Paper Hearts and Other Drabbles
by Browncoats and Floral Bonnets
Summary: A series of drabbles-some sweet, some sad, some dark, some funny. I haven't tried this before. So please give me some feedback, it would be much appreciated! If you have a prompt for me, I'll probably write it. So please, give me ideas! Rated T for language. Could be violence later on. Also, be aware that I may be uploading kinda slowly...
1. Paper Hearts

Sam sat hunched over his desk, rubbing furiously at his eyes. He wasn't going to cry. His kindergarten, Ms. Carter, came over and knelt down next to his desk.

"What's the matter, Sam?" she asked.

The tears finally won and spilled down Sam's cheeks. He kept his eyes on his desk and shrugged miserably. He just wanted Ms. Carter to go away.

"Come on, now," she coaxed. 'Tell me what's wrong."

"I can't do this project," he finally said through his tears.

"Oh, now that's not true. Here. I'll help you. What's giving you trouble?"

Sam just cried harder, "I know how to cut out hearts and glue them!" he wailed.

"Well, what's the matter then?"

"I don't-" Sam took a deep, shaky breath. "I don't have a mom to give it to," he whispered.

Ms. Carter felt her heart ache, and her maternal instinct kicked in. She rubbed a hand on Sam's back. "Oh. Oh, Sam. I'm so sorry. How about this? Make a picture anyway, and then you can pick someone else to give it to. Okay?"

Sam responded with another shrug. Ms. Carter leaned forward and whispered in his ear. "_And_ I'll let you choose the snack today."

Sam sniffled, brightening a little and wiping the tears away. "Okay."

"Okay," Ms. Carter said, then stood and continued her rounds around the class.

Sam set to work, coloring the hearts blue and green and red and black.

"You're using boy colors," the girl next to him pointed out.

"That's because I'm making this for my dad," Sam replied. The girl nodded solemnly, understanding.

"I don't have a mommy wither," she said in a low voice. "She ran away with the milkman."

Sam nodded. "Mine went to heaven," he said with a quiet reverence. She patted him on the hand in consolation and continued her work.

He started cutting out the hearts, sticking his tongue out in concentration. He glued the carefully to the blue paper he'd picked out. But he had a problem. The colors weren't dark enough to cover the word 'Mom' that was printed on each heart. Finally, he decided to write the word 'DAD' in big, bold letters over the whole piece of art.

There.

Dad would love it.

Ms. Carter came over again and Sam told her he wanted goldfish for snack. When she passed them out, she put a little extra on Sam's napkin with a wink. Sam ate a few, then, when he was sure no one else was looking, put the rest in his pocket.

When his dad picked him up that day, Sam could hardly contain himself, bouncing in the backseat as they drove to the motel. Dean scowled and twisted to look at him from the front seat.

"What are _you_ so excited about?" he asked.

John looked at Sam in the rearview mirror. "I have to admit, Sam, I'm curious too," he said with a bemused face.

"It's a surprise," Sam declared.

Dean rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to say something, but John shot him a warning glance and shook his head a little. Dean sighed.

When they got back, Sam very nearly flew to the door, John laughing as he trailed behind him. He unlocked and opened the door and Sam scurried in, John following. Dean came in after them, looking highly annoyed.

"Alright, now what is it you're going to surprise me with?" John asked.

Sam dug into his pocket and pulled out the napkin with the goldfish in it. He handed it to John, who took it and opened it, only to have a bunch of orange crumbs fall out. Sam's face fell. John grinned at him.

"It's okay, Sammy. I didn't really like goldfish anyway."

Sam perked up, undefeated. He unzipped his backpack and pulled out the picture he had made, presenting it to John as though it were the Holy Grail.

John took it and tried to smile. "Thanks," he managed. He knew that the hearts were meant for Mother's Day (even without the word 'Mom' printed on them). He tousled Sam's hair a little, then went to the fridge, pulled out a beer, and locked himself in his room.

Sam watched him, confused and more than a little hurt. He started to the door.

"Sammy," Dean said. Sam turned. His older brother shook his head. "Come on. I've got some change. Let's go to the arcade."

Sam trudged after him. "Didn't he like it?" he whimpered.

"Of course he did," Dean said, knowing is was weak, and that Sam knew it too. They were mostly out the door when Dean stopped.

"I forgot the key. Wait here, Sammy." He ran back inside to get the key. He heard something coming from John's room and went to the door. He pulled away as he realized his father was crying. He went back out, his heart pounding, and shut the door behind him.

"Come on, Sammy," he said.

He never mentioned what he'd heard.

XXX

When Sam and Dean first arrived at John's apartment some fifteen years later, Sam wasn't expecting to find much. But he did. Rummaging through the drawers, he found a folded piece of blue construction paper. Frowning, hopeful that there could be some clue to John's whereabouts, he unfolded it.

Tears sprang into his eyes as the fell upon the scribble-colored hearts, the word 'dad' scrawled over them in a child's hand-writing. He folded it and put it in his pocket.

XXX

They'd found John, and lost him again, then found him, and then lost him for good. Sam's tears were bitter, Dean's buried. When Dean turned from the blasé to get a beer in a desperate attempt to drown his sorrow with alcohol, Sam reached into his pocket and pulled out a worn and folded piece of blue paper and threw it onto the flames.


	2. That's The Beer Talking

**Basically, this sprouted from the desire to write a Sam and Dean broment. And I really wanted to write Sam when he was, like, sixteen, as we only ever see him as a kid or in his younger teens. So, enjoy! And remember: If you give me a prompt, I will probably write a drabble about it-so don't be shy.**

"Sam Winchester! Just the guy I wanted to talk to!"

Sam couldn't help but be surprised at Mr. Hawke's greeting. "Um…Hi," he said lamely.

Mr. Hawke studied him, an amused look on his face. As if he could read Sam's mind, he said, "Don't worry. That's not what this is about."

Sam breathed a sigh of relief. After the fight he'd gotten into last week, it was quite a shock to have a teacher want to talk to him for a reason other than to express anger or pity. Most of them were of the opinion that his outburst was the result of a rocky, difficult childhood. The few exceptions were of the opinion that he was acting out in a desperate attempt to gain attention. Sam was of the opinion that it was because of a cocky arrogant dick, the size of whose mouth was rivaled only by his ego.

"Well, what _is_ it about, Mr. Hawke?"

"I know you never stay in one place long…"

Sam sighed. _Here we go_.

"…and so, considering that, your test scores are all the more remarkable."

Sam blinked, not sure he'd heard correctly. "What?"

"The practice ACT I gave you when you first came. I scored it and-pardon my French, but _damn_. You have quite the mind, young Winchester."

Sam smiled. "I've always like to think so."

"What are you doing once you're out of school?"

Sam's smiled wavered a little. "Well, I want to go to school, maybe Stanford or Harvard Law. I wanna be a lawyer. But my dad wants me to go into the family business, so if that's gonna happen I gotta make I happen on my own. That would probably require me to get a full scholarship which, considering that I move around constantly and it's hard to get a full credit _ever_, I'm not sure how realistic that is."

Mr. Hawke nodded sympathetically. "Just work hard, Sam. You're a smart kid-Maybe you don't always make the smartest decisions, but who _hasn't_ wanted to just punch an idiot in the face once in a while? I had the perfect opportunity once, and let it slip. Regret it to this day." He shook his head with a small smile. "But you came here for something. What's up?"

"I just wanted to say thanks. For the book suggestion. I read it."

"And?"

"He reminds me a lot of my dad."

"Who, Ishmael?"

"No. Ahab," Sam replied, putting the book on Mr. Hawke's desk. "He's determined to get his white whale, and I'm one of the poor sailors stuck on the ship with nowhere to run."

Mr. Hawke leaned forward. "Then swim," he said.

Sam chuckled, then heaved a sigh. "I also came to say bye. We're leaving tomorrow."

Mr. Hawke raised an eyebrow. "That soon? I'm sad to hear that, Sam. You're one of the best students I've had, even though I only taught you for a few weeks. By the way, what does your father do?"

"He's a mechanic."

XXX

Sam slammed the door and stomped into the motel room, throwing his backpack down. Dean was sitting on the living room couch, a beer in hand, watching some trashy medical soap.

"Hey, Sammy," he called, raising his beer in greeting. He took a drink. "What are you so pissed about?"

"I hate it. I hate it, Dean. The constant moving, Dad's-Dad's _obsession_ with this thing. I'm sick of it. I just want to have a normal life! Is that too much to ask?" He threw himself on the couch next to Dean. Dean offered him the beer. Sam pushed it away. Dean shrugged and took a drink himself.

"Ya know what? Yeah, Sammy. It is too much to ask. Because if we don't take care of the crap on this floating chunk of rock we call home, then who will? If we're not out there killing monsters and putting ghosts down, who will be? Like it or not, you and I are never-_ever_- going to be able to live normal lives. Sure, you can try to settle down, and then one of the monsters will hit too close to home and you'll be dragged right back into the real world-the world where witches and monsters and ghosts are out there and dangerous and putting everything good in this world-as little as there seems to be sometimes-in jeopardy. You need to stop running from this life, Sam. At some point, it's going to come bite you in the ass, so either you can let it creep up and possibly be the end of you, or you can charge it head on and strike first."

Sam snorted. "That's the beer talking."

Dean punched him in the arm. "Bitch."

"Jerk," Sam answered, rubbing at his shoulder. "You know what? I think I'll try that beer now." He took it from Dean and took a sip. He made a face and nearly spat out the vile liquid. "That's disgusting. I don't see how you drink that."

"Oh, you just wait. You'll love it soon enough."

Sam shook his head. "I'm not so sure."

"Well, I am. Now, shut up. I'm trying to watch Doctor Sexy."

Sam smiled. He sure as hell didn't want to live this life forever.

But he didn't really want to leave it, either.


End file.
